And there was one
by Shijin-sama
Summary: As the Fire Nation attacked we fled, forced form our homes, only half taught. Not yet ready for the cruel world that waited." In the attacks on the airbending temples, the Fire Nation was only so successful.Now three year the world will be rocked again.
1. Prolouge

"Earth is the element of strength, Fire of passion, and water of adaptation. But we are air, the element of continual and constant _change_. In the coming years you must remember this."

-Master Yu-Gong to the Youngling class

In the beginning many could not bring themselves to commit acts of thievery, bribery, lying, and murder. But starvation and fear are harsh taskmasters indeed. In time our precursors came to learn, that they must change. Or risk the death, not only of the individual, but of a way of life that had persisted for hundreds of years. One that was even then besieged on all sides. So they fled, taking only what they could, and they hid away from the world. Taking on new names, settling in a land far away from there homes. One that was so different from where they had come from, that some began to despair. But they survived, and in time found others like themselves. They taught what they knew, and what they did not they themselves created.

We are not dead, we are only hibernating in the sands.

Some think it is time to reveal ourselves to the world. Three years, after the world was once again shaken to it core.

I am not the last, I am the first.

A new kind of bender, one as wild and free as my homeland.

Brother wind give me the strength to carry on, the heart to be true to myself, and the mind to remember those who have come before me.


	2. Pai Sho

"Pai sho is an old man's game. A game of cunning, trickery, deception, double dealing, and outright lies. But a game with a certain undertow of wisdom and world wariness."

-Len Bei-Fong "On the White Lotus Tile"

* * *

"It goes without saying," the old man said placing an old wrinkled hand upon the scared top of the wooden table that dominated the room, "That there is no doubt in this."

"No doubt?" The young man who was pacing across the table exclaimed his hand slashing through the air as if, by sheer force of will alone, he could knock this foreign notion from the air, and from the minds of the men in the room. "No doubt," he continued pausing to lean heavily on the table. The light form the small lantern shaded his face, leaving only the planes and angles of his face visible, a demonic look.

"What do you call the empty _raised _monasteries? The counts of the dead?" he scoffed at the though leaning back away from the light, crossing his arms across his chest. The old man wondered if the boy realized, in this very moment, how much he looked like his father. More than likely he did not, and the mere mention of that mans name could send the boy running as if from a monsoon on the high seas.

The boy sneered and turned from the table to resume his pacing. Like a caged tiger he paced in the room. Ready for action, and yet held back by some unknown force.

The old man sighed, seeming to sink into himself, his face sagging and his breath wheezing outwards. _Such is the folly of youth_ he thought to himself, reminded now more than ever how old he truly was. It was startling to see how years of hardships and heartbreak could mold such a troubled youth. A boy who was more willing to kill than to love, or even show affection to anything.

"I am _old_ boy, not senile" she said swiping a gnarled hand over his face, pawing at the traces that his numerous years had left on his body. His blue eyes, still quite clear despite everything, sought out the knots warped into the wood of the table. As if they might swallow his mind whole, and leave nothing but a husk behind.

"He might be right boy." The voice grumbled from the head of the table. The old man could feel in deep in his chest, like the tumble of rocks during an avalanche or the rumble if Fire Nation siege engines. He refrained from craning his neck towards the darkest corner of the room as the boy did. He knew the man who lurked in the shadows very well indeed. Tall and muscled, with a beard as black and bristling as the old mans' was weak and wispy. To opposite sides of a coin indeed. One strong as a bull the other as week as a turtleduck with a broken wing.

The old man rested his elbows on the table and leaned forwards, resting his chin on the old hands. He watched the boy with interest.

"You will go." The voice continued stern and demanding. The boy balked and opened his mouth to protest. He quickly snapped his mouth shut, bearing his teeth in a half snarl. The old man shifted, nervous for the first time in many a year. The tableau lasted for a half a second more before the boy snapped, spinning on his heel he stalked towards the door set into the far wall his steps stiff with indignation and anger.

The old man flinched a fraction, as the door slammed closed. He had the feeling that they might need to replace one of the hinges now.

"He will go far." The man at the end of the table said thoughtfully, " what remains to be seen is in what direction he will fall."

* * *

Amata fingered the hem of her sash with nervous fingers. The digits danced over the interwoven patterns in the bright blue fringes as if they were performing for some god.

_Look at me_ The girl said shifting her weight from one side to the other _acting like a novice on her first trial_ she forced her hands away from there self imposed task.

The wind danced over the ruins of the once proud eastern air temple. A kind of moaning sound emitted from the cracks in the mortar and stone. She said a quick prayer to the dead. This was a place of great pain and loss, one that was to be respected. She trailed her fingers lightly over the walls as she walked, feeling the stone and sometimes the remains of friezes that had once decorated the halls.

_This place was great once_ she mused stopping to peer into a side room, one that seemed to be an abandoned bathhouse, she moved onwards. Ever searching, ever watchful.

She paused at an intersection and crouched down, depositing her small bag of supplies near her. The brown rusack filled with bits and pieces of produce was the only thing that the Wardens had been able to supply her. Other than the food there was nothing but a few extra shirts and breeches in that bag.

Amata remembered a song she had heard once at the hearth fire. "I come in tonight/with my life in my pack" she sung the small ditty almost noiselessly as she set up a small camp in the ruins of the streets in-between once grand buildings. This place was as good as any she had found yet. The stone was so worn that it was more like dirt here, and to of the streets had been blocked by debris, creating a kind of protection.

Amata busied herself with creating a small fire and rolling out her meager sleeping bag. She could have gone the other route, the short one, to the Fire Nation. Could have, but had not. In a way this detour was her way of paying respect to her ancestors. Those who had fled from this very temple into the night to save themselves and there art.

She squeezed into the sleeping back, placing her shoes carefully upside down next to her to prevent any unwanted creatures from crawling in. She closed her eyes, and she breathed. A small, but fast, wisp of wind ruffled at the ruins, making the fire quiver as it passed. The wind carried upwards towards the clear and breathtaking night sky. On it were her prayers.

Brother wind, protect me and those I hold dear. Grant me the strength to continue, the heart to survive, and the mind to remember. And Brother, give me the ability to tell Him that he is not as alone as he thinks.

This done she turned to her side and lost herself in the sweet embrace of sleep.


End file.
